Someone to Die for
by FashionFryer
Summary: Someone wants answers from Peter, and they are set on using El to get it... lucky Neal was there instead, or is it? I don't own anything connected to the show or characters. Scenes of violence and torture in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Right, this is the first story I wrote but thought I would put up Bomb Squad first as it's a one shot. This will be a multi chapter and it's already finished so I will regularly update. PLEASE let me know how you feel about it, chapters to come will be violent and contain torture... just to let you all know!**

"I've got nothing left to live for,

No reason yet to die,

But when I'm standing at to gallows,

I'll be staring at the sky."

\- Hurts, Someone to Die for

Friday. Arguably the best day of the week. But he didn't care if they argued, right now Peter Burke knows, it's the best. Start of his long weekend, on the other side of that door. He can already smell the warm and inviting roast his wife promised she'd make. Getting out the car was the easiest thing to do. Of course he had brought case files, just in case he needed them – or El needed him to need them.

The night was cold, rain stinging his face, his back with only a thin shirt as his coat was protecting the box he carried. He was water proof after all. Thunder was rumbling in the distance, but too close for comfort. He shivered.

As the box slides to the left, coat exposing the corner, he curses, fumbling with his many keys. Preoccupied, the dark shadow falling over him goes unnoticed, until he feels – rather than sees – the arm wrapping around his throat. The box hits the pooled step, corner hitting the concrete first, files bursting out, littering down the path.

He struggled, albeit unsuccessfully. Before long they had his keys in the door – making a better job of it than he had – doing so with as little as a punch to his face. Then they were in. He was disorientated, the piercing scream of his wife violently pulling him back to reality. That, and the hard shove head first down to the floor. Finding his bearings, trying to sit, his head was spinning.

What little progress he had made was knocked out of him, with something slamming into him. Something... someone? Someone, definitely. His brain finally put it together, El.

"Peter, are you ok? Look at me..."

He heard the desperation in her voice, so he raised his heavy head. All awareness flooded him the moment he saw the large bruise already forming on her cheek. Now he wanted blood.

He grabbed her arm, putting himself between her and who ever was in their house. Why they were there, he had no idea, but he was going to find out...

"What the hell do you want?" Not the most subtle way to get them to reveal all, but it could work.

"Not us Agent Burke, not us. We are merely tools for someone else's excellence."

Ok, that didn't help. That didn't help at all.

They were bringing over a dining room chair, and some duct tape. Before he could stop them, he was on his feet, being dragged away from his wife, arms taped behind him, tape covering his mouth.

First came the blow to the face. It stung, and almost knocked him sideways. Next was the blow to the stomach, stealing his air, limited breathing to just his nose. The pain was so sudden and unexpected he almost blacked out. But he heard El shout, and that was enough to pull him back.

He heard them talking, hushed and frantic. They kept glancing back between the two home owners. They looked worried, as if they suddenly grasped what they were doing.

Peter looked over at his wife, eyes wet and red, the left one tinged blue, swelling slightly. That pissed him off. She caught his eye, and he tried to give a reassuring but fierce look. Whither that's what she saw or not, she understood his message - "stay strong, we'll be fine".


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm updating quickly as I am still off Uni - nothing better to do today! - and it's already finished! This is chapter two, hope you all like it, please let me know what you think! It starts to get more intense here, hope it's ok! review to let me know! - but be nice! ;)**

Chapter 2

Peter started assessing the situation. He knew El was not who they were after. He was the one they waited for, he was the one tied up and he was the one with fiery pain in his stomach. But he also knew there was many changes to grab him before he made it home, meaning they didn't want him alone. Either way, he's quickly noticing these men have no idea what they are going to do, and that can be dangerous.

He tried to listen to what they were saying, but they kept their tone low and inaudible. They were over at the dining room table, he noticed his laptop was open, the screen bright. That's worrisome. But he knows it's not really about cases – after all, all current case files are out in the rain, and they haven't gone to get them. He doesn't know if that's a good thing or not.

Finishing up and heading for the taxi out to Peter's would normally be out of bounds, but – having cleared it with Hughes – it was going to be easy. Peter didn't know, El had invited him. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't argue as Mozzie was – shall he say – out of town and he'd be bored.

As the cab pulls up to the other side of the road, he pays, jumping out into the stinging rain and runs to the door. Papers are transparent stuck to the pavement. Hundreds of papers, with a large file box on the top step. It stopped him in his tracks.

"He's outside."

He nodded to his pal as he turned. This gave Peter the chance to see the computer screen, Neal's tracking data. His head snapped to the guy walking to the door, trying to shout, stop him, but only noise was heard. It made El sit up straighter. She knew who would be out there, forgetting about them until now.

Guy number two – gun in hand – reached the door. Opening it, Neal was startled. Spotting the gun instantly, he knew not to run. Instead – suppressing a shiver – he raised his hands, showing he was unarmed. The gun was pointed at his chest, just a few feet away. It was like time stopped. Just the rain, soaking his suit and shirt, his hair plastered to his head, face and neck, but he didn't dare move. Just breathed, loudly, which was drowned out by the rain.

The guy smiled, a small and chilling flick of the lips. He moved back, just a tad, moving the gun to suggest Neal entered. Having stood for that short time, his legs were stiff and shaky, walking up the path and stairs proved difficult, but he didn't let it show. When he was in arm reach, he was pulled over the threshold violently and pushed to the ground at the foot of the stairs. It hurt. He vaguely heard the door slamming, as well as loud murmuring and small whimpers.

Looking up at the living room, he first sees El sitting on the floor, back to the base of the chair, then Peter tied to a dinning chair with tape over his mouth. He doesn't have time to see anything else. He's shivering violently and feels hands on his arm, painfully breaking through the numbness. He is pulled up, walked three steps and thrown on to the sofa. He lies there, panting with the strain on his cold body. Shivers convulse through his frame while his face is half buried in the cushion.

Someone walks up to him, checking his pockets and removing both phone and wallet. By the time he was done, Neal had managed to sit, slumped against the sofa back, regaining to ability to control his body, lifting a hand to wipe the water from his face. The gun was back, but it posed no threat, because Neal posed no threat. The guy stepped back, walking away. His head was spinning. The change in temperature, the damp clothing and hair and the violent encounter.

Having a few seconds to get himself together, he looked ahead, at El. She was crying and looking at him like he was dying. He smiled, trying to reassure her, but it didn't work. He looked to his left, Peter was twisting round trying to check he was ok. He moved to be better in his sight line, giving him a smile and nod to show he was good, again, didn't help much. Peter still had that worried look in his eyes.

Guy one came out the kitchen, straight up to Peter, ripping the tape off his mouth. He gasped. It stung. He looks at the guy, who just laughs, walking over to Neal and pulls up his trouser leg, exposing his anklet. Still blinking green.

"Look," Peter wanted to get their attention, on him solely, "I don't know who you guys are, or what you want, or who you're working for, but if you tell me I can help." He knew it was a long shot, but it was one he had to try.

Both men looked at each other. Guy one spoke. Both were facing Peter, forgetting their other two captives. "Our boss wants your help alright, I just think you'll need some persuading."

Guy two decided to speak up, "He said to bring the wife, but now he's here," he nodded towards Neal with no expression, "we think he'll be the best companion for your meeting." He nods at guy one, who goes to the kitchen, returning with El's soufflé burner. Peter always hated that thing. He thinks after today, he'll hate it a lot more.

Guy one walks quickly to Neal, pulling him by the ankle off the sofa, so he is right in Peter's eye line. Seeing his face, Peter knows he is in pain and scared, trying to conceal both. His back hurt from falling from the sofa and he tried to move, but a gun was thrust in his face, keeping his back against the floor. Taking out Peter's hand cuffs, guy two uses one hand to cuff El to the fireplace. Only one of her hands were tethered and it wasn't painful.

Without another word both men take their place surrounding Neal. Guy one keeps his gun steady, placing a foot on Neal's chest, bending onto the other knee and using his shin as a restraint for his right arm. Guy two puts his foot on Neal's left leg, kneeling like his associate to use his shin as a barrier for the right leg.

Neal was struggling. Trying to get free. It was no good. Peter could see that. He had a front row seat. He could tell they were targeting the anklet, and he saw Neal knew it too. His breathing was heavy, terrified, it drowned out El's sobs. He felt he and Neal were the only ones in the room, their eyes locked, and he knew what ever was going to happen required him to be strong.

Guy two rips the left trouser leg to the knee, then lifts the soufflé burner. Peter saw everything play out in front of him in that split second, he saw red. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Leave him alone, I'm the one you want!" They weren't listening. Not even paying attention. Instead they bundled up a kitchen towel and shoved it into Neal's mouth with such force he gagged against it. They secured it with tape.

The bright light from the fiery torch made Peter flinch. Guy two slowly lowered the torch to touch the anklet. Within seconds it started to melt, and Neal squirmed in agony under the heavy weight the men were putting on him. His left arm flow about violently, trying to relieve his right arm, clawing at the carpet beneath him. El was screaming as the moulted plastic stuck to the ankle, causing the skin to redden, swell and blister. The air stung with the smell of the burning flesh. But Peter didn't notice any of this, he was focused on Neal's face. He was straining against his man-made restraints and screaming behind the towel, causing him to choke and desperately gasp for air. The veins on his neck bulged as his head went back, hair falling onto his face, and onto the floor.

It felt like a lifetime before they turned off the torch. The anklet was melted onto the carpet and still burning Neal's leg. Only half had survived and guy two easily removed it and threw it towards Peter. They got up, like nothing had happened and walked to the kitchen, taking the laptop with them. But Peter wasn't bothered, he was only focused on Neal. His jaw slack, face away from him, towards El. He could just see his eye lids were fluttering, trying to hang on to consciousness, whole body slack, ankle swollen and red blisters forming. Foot twitching.

"Neal, listen to me, you're going to be ok. I've got you ok? El, El has you. Don't you hon?"

His wife was unmoving. Just staring in shock at what she'd seen. Neal was pale and unresponsive, so was she, until she heard her husband say her name. Her head snapped up, meeting his intense and worried gaze. She reached out her hand, taking Neal's. His hold was weak and his eyes didn't open much. But he looked at her, and a small smile appeared in them, before quickly being replaced by a pained grimace, a small moan escaped the tape. She gripped harder.

Realising he was finding it hard to breath, she reached forward, slowly taking the tape off, removing the towel, allowing him to gasp in the air, pained noises again filling the silence. Peter just watched on. Nothing else he could do. He felt so useless. Instead he focused on the ankle. It was painful looking, burned almost to the bone, through skin, flesh and muscle. He could almost feel it himself, almost.

Everything was silent, as El kept rubbing Neal's hand with her thumb. Guy two walked back in to the room. Peter lunged forward. Didn't even think about it. His arms were tied but legs were outstretched. He managed to balance, didn't manage to get him, but didn't fall. Instead he rocked back and forth while the guy laughed. But Peter didn't care, all he saw was his friend in pain and the person who did it to him.

The guy walked behind him, and cut his bounds, but a gun was on his shoulder before Peter could move. The first aid kit from the kitchen was thrown into his lap and the guy left without a word. He knew Peter wouldn't run, wouldn't leave them behind. He was right. Flexing his wrists, Peter crouched beside Neal opening the kit. Gauze and bandages, burn and antiseptic cream were inside.

"Hey Buddy, how you doing? Just hang on, everything will be ok," he paused to see his patient looking at him, nodding, trusting, before looking away, knowing what was to come, "I'm gonna wrap your ankle, it's gonna hurt like hell, but I have too. I'm sorry. Hold El's hand and don't let go, just don't black out and don't make too much noise of they'll gag you again ok?" Another curt nod.

Moving down to the ankle, he had to take a second to breath. Parts of the skin were charred black and vicious red wounds surrounded his foot, the foot that continued to twitch. Here goes.

Hearing Neal's scream was heart breaking. The cream was cold and, unlike what Peter thought, didn't offer relief from the hot burning sensation. El was squeezing his hand back, and his eyes were closed painfully as tears rolled rapidly down his cheeks. Peter felt terrible, he was causing this. He did as much as he could as quickly as he could before securely wrapping it with the gauze. By that time, Neal was pretty much out of it, whole body shaking. After a few minutes, all three of them had calmed down, coming more to their senses. Peter helped Neal move back and sit against the sofa. His head lolled back slightly, and he was warmer than he should be although still shivering, but he was lucid and awake and that's what mattered.


	3. Chapter 3

**Still bored, so here's the next chapter... Got some people interested in the story - so I'm happy - as always, review to let me know what you think and I don't own anything associated with the show!**

Chapter 3

"What will we do?"

"We take them both, Burke and his friend. Not the wife."

"She would be the best option. More likely to get him to co-operate. He's just a guy he works with."

"Look at him, he cares." Guy one looks into the living room, Burke was talking to the anklet guy, keeping him awake. Mike was right, he cared. He's kind of glad, didn't really fancy handing over the wife. At least now they can leave her here.

"Rich, we have to move. I'll get the van ready, bring it up front, you get them. Leave the Mrs there. Make sure the phone doesn't work." With that he was moving, past him and out to the door. He saw the agent turn slightly and eye him as he walked, before turning back to his more awake and aware friend. The friend was seeming to be able to focus more on whatever Burke was saying, while one hand was on his arm and the other the back of his neck.

Picking up the gun Mike left behind, Rich moved towards them.

"Get up."

Burke moved to the side, looking at him with hate. His grip slowly tightened around his friend's arm. Rich levelled the gun at Burke's head. Staring straight into his eyes, showing he wouldn't take no for an answer. Mike came back in, wet to the core, hum of the van engine being drowned out by the pelting rain.

"Any day dude. We're on a schedule here."

He was walking over to El. Fast and furious.

"Leave her alone!" Peter didn't know he was going to say it until he heard it. But he didn't care. Not at that moment.

"No worries Agent, she's fine. You two on the other hand, you're coming with us."

He pulled the phone from the wall and away from El's position. But went no where near her, thankfully. She looked at Peter, face wet with tears, left eye swollen and bruised. She was worried about her husband, about what was going to happen next.

"I said move," Rich leaned in closer so only Peter and Neal could hear him, "unless you want me to shoot someone. It won't be you, so you can pick." The gun barrel was flush on Neal's chest.

There was no way out, Peter let go of Neal's arm, slowly getting to his feet, taking a step forward, hoping they will only be interested in him. No such luck.

"Him too."

"No. He's injured, I'm not causing him more pain." Rich looked up at Mike, smiling, knowing the plan would work. He pointed the gun at El, getting a reaction, just not the one they were expecting.

"I'm moving," Neal said breathlessly as he slowly began to shift from his place on the floor, trying to stifle the moan of pain. Without a word, knowing this was the only way to protect El, Peter bent down to help him. Mike grabbed the tape and walked to put a strip on El's mouth, walking wordlessly to the door and was gone.

His ankle hurt, it felt like it was on fire, making him almost black out each time it moved or was touched. Getting up would have been impossible without help. Walking hurt like hell. He put his left foot down and buckled, crashing to the floor if not for the strong support under his arm, helping him remain standing, taking his weight walking to the door.

Seeing his friend in pain was tough. He did what he could, throwing Neal's left arm over his shoulder to take the burden. Stealing a glance at his handcuffed wife before leaving. Whither the guy knew she had one hand free or not, he probably didn't care. Walking to the door, hearing the pain Neal was in cut him to the core. The small moans and whimpers Peter knew he was trying to hold back.

The rain was worse, if that was possible. Droplets like bullets ricocheting off the ground. Mike was in the van, Rich behind the two men, pushing them forward with the gun. The air was biting cold, the papers on the pathway slippery under foot. Walking took time, time they couldn't afford, this had to be quick. Mike slid under the other arm of the injured man – gun still trained on him – and sped the process along.

Peter saw the back doors were already open. The van wasn't big, both of them would fit but only just. He went in first, followed shortly by Neal, and a cry of pain as his ankle hit the floor, hard. Peter pulled him further into the van as the doors were quickly slammed shut. The only window in the roof to give light, as the driver cab and back was separated complete. Not even sound reaching them. They were alone. There was silence.

Neal tried to move, letting out a small grunt of pain. He was breathing heavy, soaking wet again and shivering slightly. Even though he felt far too hot. Peter felt it, he was so close they were touching.

"You ok?"

"Is that a trick question?" He tried to move, Peter helping him to prop his back against the van side, facing each other. His cheek was split but he looked ok.

Neal's skin was pale. He was shaking, either from the cold or shock was setting in. Either way, he couldn't do anything about it now, except keep him awake and talking. And to keep his mind off what was going to happen, to them and his wife in the house alone.

"Hey, look at me, how you feeling?"

"Em, not great, but been worse. Is El ok?"

"Course. She's fine, they left her in the house, she's safe. Thanks to you."

He just shrugged in response. Having something to take his mind off the pain was helping.

"So, who you pissed off now agent?" He was trying to make light of it, doing rather well in his opinion. But the look of Peter's face said otherwise. He was not happy.

"I haven't done anything... at least nothing off the top of my head. Anyway, why the hell are you here?" Finally asking the question that's been bugging him.

"Oh, El invited me for diner. Didn't think would be this dangerous though. Guess the case files were a bust?"

"Don't get me started." Peter saw Neal's left foot violently twitch. Saw the pain flash across his face, breath being stolen. The jiggling of the van going over pot holes didn't help. It was clear they had quickly left the city, uneven and dirt roads under wheel.

"Where... you thi-nk we goin'?" The stutter in the injured man's voice was out of character and told of the pain he was in. It was harder to see him without the street lights coming through the roof. Only the faint moonlight left.

"Wish I knew, we're not in Kansas anymore. Dirt road, out in the country, somewhere. Definitely not the city."

"Feels weird... no anklet to sound the alarm... kinda wish it would... didn't think I'd say that."

Before Peter could answer, the van began to slow, then stop. Once the engine was cut, all they could hear was their breathing. That was until the doors flew open.


	4. Chapter 4

**So, chapter 4! Had some good feedback, that you all soooo much! This is more of a 'meanwhile' chapter, with no violence… but don't worry so much to come! I'll probably put another on today too... this is quite short and nothing much happens. Let me how what you think!**

Chapter 4

Once they had left, the house was silent. The rain was stopping, suddenly surrounding her in silence. She let ten minutes pass before reaching up to remove the tape from her mouth, dragging in a breath to steady her nerves. With shaking hands, she felt the handcuff securing her. It wasn't tight, just secure. The phone was out of reach, but the clock said 7.45pm. She had arranged for Neal, Jones, Diana and Reese to come to dinner at 7.30, they were late. Well, Neal wasn't. She just sat there, waiting to be rescued.

It took seven minutes before all three arrived at once. Typical. Seeing the case files plastered to the path, all entered the house guns first. The door was open but intact, this gave a false sense of order. Inside was a mess, furniture all over the place, showing the obvious struggle. They stopped in their tracks when they saw her, sitting quietly, staring into space, like they weren't even there.

Diana was first to walk forward, towards her. That's when her eyes snapped up, both eye to eye. She started to cry, as Diana walked closer, ready to take the cuff off. As the two men cleared the house, Diana hugged Mrs Burke.

"So talk us through exactly what happened." Reese was satisfied El had time to calm down, a cup of coffee in her slightly shaking hand, house swarmed with agents and crime techs. His eyes kept drifting to the pool of dried blood, still warm to touch, with the black moulted plastic mixed in. The half battered electronic device sitting not far to the left. He swallowed, again.

"I was making the dinner, roast, full Monty. Waiting for Peter to get home. You said he'd be earlier. The rain was bad, weather cold, I couldn't really hear anything from outside, just the rain..." She sipped her mug tentatively, readying herself for what came next, and what came after that,"… next thing I knew, three men – including Peter – were in the house. One came right for me, grabbing and pulling me. I fought back, before he struck me," she gestured at the already blue hue of her eye, ice pressed on it gently, "I was a bit dazed and before I knew it, was in the living room."

Jones was writing it down, Diana following, making sure everything was documented. Hughes just sat there, listening and waiting to hear something he didn't want to hear.

"They tied Peter to the chair, and left me sitting. They punched him twice, em, they kept looking at his laptop, its in the kitchen I think," Jones got up to check, "before long Neal arrived... they knew he was here," Jones came back in with the laptop, open on Neal's tracking data, "when he was thrown in he was shivering and soaking. One of the guys had a gun, pointed at him. They threw him on the sofa."

She was exhausted and wanted to sleep, but knew she wouldn't be able to, not after tonight, not for a while. And not when her husband was still out there. She knew what they wanted to hear, about the anklet, but she didn't know if she could say it, relive it. But she had to.

"After a few minutes, they pulled Neal to the floor, holding him down, one had my soufflé burner and..." She trailed off in to sobs. Everyone in the room silent, letting the understated statement hang in the air, the pieces fitting together on their own. Hughes put his hand on El's shoulder.

"They cuffed me before, so I wouldn't try stop them. Once it was done, Neal was close to unconsciousness, but he stayed awake. They brought the first aid kit, let Peter treat the wound. It was bad. Once he was more lucid, they wanted them to move, Peter said no, not Neal only him, but they said they'd... they'd take me instead, and Neal agreed to go. They left." She was crying again, couldn't hold it in. Everyone else was silent, letting the reality of the situation to sink in.


	5. Chapter 5

**Right, here we go, still in New York, in some unknown location. This is when it gets REALLY interesting, a little intro to what's to come. Violence and torture – with the obvious protective nature stirred in! Thank you all for your reviews and following! I LOVED writing these chapters to come. Let me know what you all think pleeease?**

Chapter 5

The torch light being shone into the van blinded the men. Both recoiled and closed their eyes until the intense light was dulled to a more acceptable level. Mike and Rich motioned for them to move, before closing in to grab the injured ankle, stopped short by a kick to the outstretched hand. Burke wasn't going to let this be easy.

"Leave him alone. I'll get him out."

Looking at each other, Mike and Rich retreated, knowing Burke wouldn't leave him here alone. They watch the two men gather their selves, one leaning on the other, and exiting the van.

Neal's breath caught in his throat when he hit the ground. Having his support was helpful, but pain radiated with every step. Looking around, he saw they were in the middle of nowhere. Darkness surrounded them, with a small house in the distance. It couldn't be far, but to him, it looked like miles. As they started walking – gun to their backs – he felt he might pass out, gripping more on Peter's hand, leaning more into him.

It took ten minutes to reach the house. It was more like a cottage, standing alone. Mike moved in front, opening the door and shoving them in. He heard muffled groans but he was too cold to care. The four of them marched down to the cellar, as instructed. The guy couldn't manage the stairs, and stumbled repeatedly.

The cellar was cold, dark. The only lightbulb off, bare in the centre of the room. Peter could see their breath in front of them. Neal was shivering, so was he just not as bad. He sat his 'patient' against the furthest away wall, placing himself between him and the two guys. Although he knew they weren't going to be the problem.

The silence was hard to take, before the door above slammed open, followed by slow and deliberate foot steps. They were obviously male, but surprisingly light. Only his bottom half could be seen by the time he stopped, motioning for Mike and Rich to follow. Once they were up, the door wasn't closed, allowing the captives to hear what was being said.

"I told you to get the wife," Peter clenched his jaw at that, and Neal felt him tense, "she was our best bet."

"Well we were going to, them he came, and we thought it better this way. They work together at the fed building, so we left that angle open if you wanted it... what are you doing? No, don't, please..." Two shots rang out, one after the other. They were loud and made both men in the cellar jump, heads snapping to the stairs, breathing heavy.

The silence was again broken by the footsteps on the cement stairs. Getting louder the closer he came. His face was unfamiliar. A complete stranger standing in front of them, his left foot print making red blood stains behind him. Movement was happening above as a tall and wide man emerged behind the man yet to speak to his captives.

The four men just stared at each other, until the mute nodded and the guy behind him moved forward, separating the men sitting close together. Peter fought first, trying to kick and punch, keeping a firm grip on his injured friend. Before he could do much damage, a gun was brought down on his head, causing him to loose control of his body, collapsing to the floor.

He watched Peter go down, the guy with the gun trying to stand him up, the pain weakened his defences and before he knew it he was being half carried and half pulled to the other side of the room. His arms were pulled straight, at right angles to his body, taught. His wrists were tied to ropes hanging from hooks in the ceiling. Head lolling, he tried to focus, the spinning of the world slowing down to a more bearable pace. He saw Peter, half sitting, trying to make sense of what was happening. His arms were burning already, he was too high up to kneel, but too low to stand, legs trailing behind. The length of rope and wide distance between each piece meant his couldn't move.

The guy moved back to Peter, grabbing zip ties, securing him to the wall by a semi circular ring jutting out. It was higher than his head, so he had to stretch, but low enough to slump against the wall. He looked up, saw he was face to face with Neal, limp at the end of the ropes. Too far to touch or help, but close enough to see what they would want him to. A mirror was behind Neal, trained to allow his back to be seen.

The big guy left the room, as the smaller guy – obviously in charge – stepped forward, in front of Peter and in between he and Neal, blocking his view.

"So, Agent Burke, you are probably wondering what is happening. And I'm going to tell you. I have brought you here to ask you some questions. Mostly surrounding the FBI and, well, anything else I feel I may need to know. Now, my associates were supposed to bring your wife to accompany you, but deep down, I knew they wouldn't, so he," the light hearted dialogue is interrupted by the man flipping his thumb at Neal, "will have to do."

Peter glowers at him, unsure what to say. He is glad El isn't here, but would rather only be him, if it was about him, no one else should be hurt. The big guy returned, carrying a large, heavy looking bag. Letting it drop to the ground, the loud noise echoed in the small space. The two men didn't seem to notice, but Neal was startled and looked up sharply, eyeing the bag, before turning his gaze to Peter. Both looked at each other as the smaller man walked over to the bag, as his associate walked back upstairs, shutting the door.

Reaching down to open the zip, he smiled. All the equipment right there, he knew exactly what to do. Start off slow, built up to the more effective stuff. It was going to be fun. But first, he removed the camera, placing it up in the corner of the room, with both captives in view, close enough to see all the action.

Back to the bag. Picking out the base ball bag, be stood, bouncing it off his right hand. Turning back to show his 'audience' what he has. Burke pales, Caffery doesn't look up, head down, hair over his eyes. That won't do. He takes a firm grip of the wood, slamming it against the wall inches from the suspended man. Both men flinched at the sound, with Caffery looking up.

"Leave him alone!"

This was going to be fun.


	6. Chapter 6

**Ok, so I've kinda realised that I need to work on a main plot… but it'll have to wait 'til the next one! Here's the next one hope you like it… please review and let me know! Warning... scenes of violence and torture!**

Chapter 6

He hit the wall again, harder this time. Peter was shouting before the impact.

"Stop it! He has nothing to do with this, he isn't FBI! He won't know anything!"

But the man was already lining up his shot, to the back. Hitting just in the curve, above the trouser line. Neal held back most of the yelp that left his body involuntarily. Peter clenched his eyes closed, letting out a pained noise through gritted teeth.

"You son of a bitch."

"No Agent, but you can call me... Tom. You like that? I like it, normal, unassuming. Suits me don't you think?" He smiled at Peter, just one side of his mouth moving.

Turning back to Neal, standing face to face, he raised the bat again. This time for the right side, ribs exposed. The pain couldn't be contained, he yelled as he felt movement from the middle ribs. He sucked in a breath, wincing at the feeling the movement gave, gritting his teeth. Next he felt the bat come down on his left arm, just above the elbow, he shouted, nothing broken, but pain cascading up and down the limb. Hearing Peter shout brought him back from sinking into unconsciousness.

He hits again, aiming for the stomach. Neal tries to curl around the pain, but it added to the strain already on his arms, ankle painful every time he moved it. The cough in his throat hurt his ribs and made it harder to avoid more arm strain. He couldn't move or react to anything happening.

Another hit to the back, higher up this time, followed quickly by one to the chest, knocking the wind from him. The right shoulder was next, spasming against the strain. His whole body hurt.

Peter couldn't watch, but knew he had to be strong. For Neal. When he needed him to be. His head was hanging against his chest again, waiting for 'Tom' - really? - to strike again. He was hit twice more, one to the left thigh – sending shock waves to his ankle – and again to the stomach.

Tom put the bat down, dropping it, leaving the echo. Walking over to Peter, he crouches down to whisper in his ear.

"Enjoying the show? Personally, I think it's a bit dull, but then again, I know it's going to get better, don't I? Bet you like him, tied up and vulnerable, kind of what you do every time you take him into the field, guns and fights, undercovers. Tut tut tut. Ridiculous really. Then you track him, don't even trust him. Now, here, he's gonna die, slowly and painfully, unless you tell me about the cases I ask about. Mostly relocations, but don't worry, we'll get to that. I'll leave you to think carefully."

He gets up to leave, heading for the stairs, before stopping.

"Oh, almost forgot, I'll give you some encouragement." He walked over to the bag, taking out a small knife, re-tracing his steps to Neal. He cuts through his tie, and top three buttons before Peter shouts at him to stop, but he doesn't let on. Continuing down the front of the shirt, opening to reveal his undershirt. He cut along the sleeve seams, opening them up. As he cuts, the tattered shirt falls away. A bruise was already beginning to form on his arm and shoulder. The undershirt was cut at the shoulders, the knife slicing the skin as it broke the fabric. The front was sliced, removing it completely.

Neal shivered uncontrollable, the cellar colder now, making his already cold skin goose bump and constrict. The pain was worsened by the change. He put the knife blade in between his teeth, hands moving down to undo his belt.

"No, leave him. You don't have to, I understand you mean business, please." Peter was not above begging. He was sitting up straight, willing to do anything to help his friend.

Tom continued. Cold hands grazing his captives stomach, making him shiver again. The belt was thrown to the side, could be used later. Unfastening the trousers and letting them fall, Tom walked behind, lifting one foot at a time, adding to the strain on Neal's arms. The right trouser leg was removed first, but the left caused a scream to erupt from Neal's throat. The bandage was red, and soaked through. Blood pooled on the floor. Each tug caused more pain. It wasn't working, so Tom took the blade, slicing the fabric down the side, leaving the trousers behind him. He stepped in front of his captive, looking him up and down, satisfied, the bruising appearing on his back and front. He turned his head, winking at Peter, sitting in silence and hatred. Putting the knife back in the bag, he started walking up the stairs, "I'll give you some time to think Agent."

The door slammed shut and Peter was in shock. He stared at Neal, barely conscious and with only his black boxers. His torso black and blue, front and back.

"Hey." It was a hushed whisper, knowing the camera was recording what they were doing. But Neal didn't move, just the rise and fall of his chest.

"Hey, Neal, come on buddy, stay with me." That got his attention. The sore and raspy voice that replied wasn't expected.

"I'm still here," he raised his head to meet Peter's eye, "Not checking out yet. What'd he want?"

"Don't know yet. Says its about cases, relocations. But I'm not sure. You know... you know I can't tell him, right?" The question hung in the air, letting the meaning behind it sink in. "Not that I don't want to, I want to get you out of here, but I can't..."

"I know, I know. Don't worry about it. Don't... don't tell him anything, no matter... no matter what happens, what he does."

Peter knew this was what he needed to do, but hearing it made it worse. Made it sound like Neal was giving up. He was suddenly pissed...

"I can't have that on my conscious too."

That stopped Peter in his thoughts. He looked up at his friend. Pale, frozen and vulnerable. That wasn't what he'd been expecting.

"It wouldn't be on your conscious. You can't help this. You're blameless."

"Hu, makes a change I suppose. Been called a lot of things, but blameless has never been one of them."

Both men laughed softly, one grimacing from the pain the other looking on, dread on his face.

"Look, Peter... you can't... can't tell him... him anything. People can't die for … this."

Peter knew he was right, and having him say that made him feel better about what he had to do. Neal not understanding why would make him telling all the more possible. But he knew what Neal was doing, giving his permission to let the guy do what ever he was going to. To tell Peter to let it happen. That it was ok. Except it wasn't, Peter knew that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Ok, warning – this is gonna get intense… more so. Violence and torture people. Need the reviews to let me know how you feel! Ta!**

Chapter 7

The opening of the door flooded the cellar with light, causing each man to close their eyes. The lightbulb above them was turned on before the door was shut, continuing the illuminating brightness. Tom walked back down the stairs and over to the bag, not even acknowledging his guests.

Peter looked straight at Neal, "You scream and shout, just don't let him break you. Stay alive, we will get out of this."

"Aw, isn't that endearing. Guess you've decided to go with the difficult option. Am I going to have to work for my information, hmm?" Tom turned to face Peter, ignoring Neal completely. Once he realised Peter wasn't going to answer, he turned to the bruised man behind him.

"Right, that's his answer, now lets play. You ready Neal?"

He had a black velvet pouch, long and thin, in his hand. Opening the tie, he pulled out a thick wand, with a handle and button. He smiled. Neal swallowed, looking up to the ceiling, steadying himself for what was next, breath catching his throat.

Peter kept his mouth shut, that was their deal, say nothing. But he was feeling less and less sure about it, the fear on his friends' face said it all. Something it rarely did. That was the other side of their deal, nothing hidden. All emotion on the table. Neal to do what ever he needed to stay alive and sane. Peter to do it too.

The tip of the wand was brought down to the base of the rib cage, in the middle of his torso. Its touch was cold, he backed away to escape it, but it followed him. Tom looked him in the eye, inches away, before pushing the button. Electricity coursed through his body. He couldn't feel his body constricting; the pain being brought onto his stretched arms. Couldn't feel his ankle hitting the ground. Couldn't hear the ear-piercing scream coming from his throat. The pain, burning and intense, resonating from that small contact consumed him. And as quickly as it came, it was gone.

He breathed in, quick and harsh, ignoring the pain from his ribs. He felt after shocks rock his body, nerves on fire, shaking his core. His head hung low, trying to control himself. Before sense could return, he felt the wand tap his lower right abdomen, and it started again.

Peter couldn't do anything. Just sit and watch his friend writher in agony, just for it to stop and start again. He kept quiet, until the third time Neal screamed, by the fifth he was screaming too. Telling him to stop, leave him alone. But it didn't work. Eight times. Eight times he did it before stopping. When he did, Neal was barely able to breath. He was conscious, but due to pain only. Whole body shaking, hot and sensitive. He couldn't move without pain, couldn't breath.

Walking back to the bag, Tom picks up a gallon bottle of water. Unscrewing the cap, looking at Peter blankly. Raising an eyebrow, raising the bottle with both hands over Neal's arm, he stares at Peter, sitting defeated on the floor. But he said nothing, staring back with venom in his eyes. So Tom continued.

The water was cold, freezing to Neal. His fiery arm being met with this sudden contrast caused another round of spasms and shivers to rake his already sore body. He closed his eyes, surprised when it stopped and moved to the other arm, then his stomach. The contact points from the wand being met by the water caused him to whimper and moan.

Once the bottle was empty, Tom threw it towards Peter. Going over, crouching face to face, he asked him a question, but not what Peter thought, "Changed your mind yet?"

He smirked at Peter's flinch of rethinking, before getting up, turning the light off before leaving.


	8. Chapter 8

**Right, me again, here we go. Let me know what you think… reviews! Scenes of violence and torture.**

Chapter 8

"Neal. Neal look at me. Please, look at me."

The pleading in his voice was thick, and he knew the camera would pick it up. But right then, he didn't care. It didn't matter, making sure Neal was ok was the most important thing. But he didn't look up. His body twitching, convulsing, shivering. His breathing was harsh, loud in the confined space, until he broke the silence.

"Don't tell him... any..anything."

Peter heard the pain and it almost broke him. Making him want to tell him everything. But he wasn't alone, Neal needed him to be strong, to not give up. Looking at him, it was as if he hadn't spoken. Arms straining as he tried to stay conscious.

"I won't. How are you?" He knew it was a stupid question, but something inside him needed to ask it. But he wasn't getting an answer. "Neal? Still with me?"

"Yeah. I'm 'ere." The response was slurred but there and that's all Peter needed. Although it didn't answer the important question, he knew that was all he was going to get.

Time was passing, Neal was gaining more strength. They had no idea what time it was when he returned, but had to be at least mid day. The FBI would be looking. When he did come back, he had changed, had on a sweatshirt and large boots. It didn't look good.

No acknowledgement or comment was given, he walked straight to the bag, picking out a knife, small, but very sharp. Peter saw it before Neal. He stiffened and groaned. He was imagining what he was planning, none of it was good. His reaction caught Neal's attention. And he looked over, seeing the knife, fear returning to his eyes. He wasn't even trying to hide it.

"So, Agent. Tell me about the Pirate case. You know, gang of guys robbing docked yachts. One turned on the others, he disappeared, they want to know where he is." He looks down at Peter, wanting an answer but knowing he wasn't going to get one. They were like that for a few minutes before Neal spoke up.

"He's not going to tell you. You... you may as well get started."

That's when Peter faltered. Hearing Neal speak about being used against him, he almost broke. Tom smirked before moving towards his blank canvas.

"Well, if you insist. I like your co-operative attitude. He must have taught you well." He flicks the tip of the knife to point at Peter. Neal's eyes glance that way too, snapping quickly back to the knife wielding psychopath in front of him, closing in.

Tom walked over to the left arm first, ghosting the knife over the forearm, right below the elbow, on the soft and sensitive side. Neal tried not to flinch, but when he finally felt the knife bite his skin, he couldn't resist. But his arm was so taught, it had no-where to go. He pushed the knife in further as the blood began to flow to the floor. Almost a full circle was created, slowly and deliberately. The next letter caused Neal to yell out. Peter kept a steady lock on his friend's eyes, although they were screwed shut, trying to block out the world. But by the time Tom was finishing the sixth and final letter, the pool of blood was staggering for the short time period and Neal was screaming.

It was only once Peter's line of sight to the arm was clear that he looked. There, spanning the width and length of Neal's forearm was the word; CONMAN.


	9. Chapter 9

**Right, almost to the rescue, last little bit of torture to keep you going! I loved writing these, but was surprised at how much I liked the chapters to follow! Let me know how you feel and what you think, reviews! Torture and violence people!**

Chapter 9

He couldn't believe it, just kept his eyes on the word, trying to absorb it. The cuts were deep, blood flowing from every line made. Neal's arm was shaking, from pain and strain from keeping his body upright. His head was down, long shaky breaths being dragged into his battered body. They hurt his ribs, but it needed to be done. Looking up, he saw Peter, pale and shaken, looking at his arm. He didn't want to look, couldn't bare it. But his friend needed him, so he was going to...

"Look at me Neal. Don't look anywhere else, just me." His voice was serious, his eyes ablaze, staring at him, protecting him. But he had to see for himself. Pulling his gaze, he moved his head as little as possible, eyes going to the bloodied mess. Seeing that word carved in his skin, he felt the bile rise in his throat. Seeing Tom walk around near the bag, he knew not to give him the satisfaction. Instead he looked up to the ceiling, swallowing hard.

Peter wanted to kill him. He had never wanted to kill someone so much. Seeing his friend – who is only there as his leverage – so vulnerable and defenceless, but still fighting hard. He knew he couldn't give up. Looking at Tom, he wanted to kill him.

He walked back to his 'guests'. Kneeling down to the Agents' eye line, knowing he couldn't touch him, he felt powerful.

"Where is the informant?"

Not answering had been the hardest thing Peter had ever done. Looking past the man in his face to the fading form of his friend. But they made a pact, no information was to be told, and he hated it. He kept his mouth shut.

He got up, walking over to Neal, standing at his front, smirking. Bringing the bloodied knife to the man's face, making him flinch away involuntarily. He ignored the protests from behind, side stepping to the left. The smooth skin of his right forearm exposed. Just above the encircling rope, he presses the knife into the flesh.

Stepping back, admiring his handiwork, he glanced back at Burke, red eyed and trying to lunch himself at him. But he didn't care. He wanted the information, and wasn't going to stop until he got it, or the guy died. Which ever came first.

Picking up the torn shirt from the floor, he wiped the blood from the knife, throwing it back down. Walking to the agent, turning his back or the three words engraved up the right arm; LIAR, THIEF, FED. All in smaller print, enough to span the length and width of the forearm.

Peter was going to throw up. Seeing Neal in so much pain, all at once, was horrendous. He couldn't imagine a time in his life he had felt like this. And he could stop it, just by telling him a location. Although deep down, he knew he wouldn't.

"Now, this is your last chance, before I get nasty. Where. Is. The . Informant?"

"Go to hell." He wanted it to come out bold and assuring, but it sounded weak and unsure. But he just smirked a disappointed grin and moved back to Neal. Peter bowed his head, admitting his defeat, only raising it again when he heard Neal's whimper and groan. He saw Tom was now behind him, about to dig the knife in once more. The mirror at Neal's back now making sense, as Peter got to see first hand the words slowly being edged into his friend's skin. The pain filled noises coming from Neal's mouth made him want to trade places, the screams after three letters, unbearable. Watching as the first word formed, Peter began to shout. He wasn't sure what he was saying, but knew what this bastard was planning, and wanted it to stop, knowing it wouldn't.

He was lost in his own world of pain. Injuries past and present. The shearing pain radiating from his back – between the shoulder blades – was just another addition. His voice was horse, throat sore, but the scream couldn't be contained. He heard Peter shouting, but his own voice drowned it out. The pain was moving down, towards the base of his back, it was so overwhelming, he didn't know what hurt anymore. Until it was over. The few minutes of intense pain became a evenly spread agony, every movement taking his breath, every breath causing pain. He couldn't win.

Looking in the mirror, Peter made out the four words, and he turned to the side, vomiting on the concrete floor.

PROPERTY

OF THE

FBI.

The cuts deep, blood pouring, pooling on the floor. But Tom didn't care, just walking back to where he had left Peter, kneeling again. They just stared at each other.

At the top of the stairs, the door opened, the big guy's feet coming into view half way down the steps.

"Fed's are on their way. We gotta move."

He heard him, but continued to keep eye contact with the Agent, who had a brief look of relief, followed quickly by the dread of what could come. He stood, walking to the bottom step, nodded once, returning to his captives. The belt, laying curled on its side was picked up, and taken to behind a semi-conscious Neal.

"Well Agent, I'm afraid you have missed you chance. We have to leave, who knows how far out your guys are, how long they'll take to get here."

He reached for Neal's feet, grabbing the ankles. That brought Neal back into full awareness. His ankle burned and spasmed. He felt the soaked bandage be crudely ripped from the skin, causing the yell of pain to fill the silence. A tight pressure was added to both legs, lifting them up and further back. Everything hurt, arms, shoulders, back, legs. He screamed further, no relief given, looking at Peter with a confused face, Peter too busy watching what was happening.

A semi-circular hoop – similar to Peter's – stuck out the wall. The belt, having been tightly looped around the ankles, was attached to the hoop. This caused Neal's entire body the bend backwards, causing another round of pained cries to meet the air. The blood was falling faster.

"Agent Burke, our time has come to an end. Thank you for joining me, it really is a shame you couldn't have been more helpful," he walked back to where the bat was laying, and picked it up, slowly returning to Neal, "I'll leave you a last parting gift."

He swung the bat viciously, resulting in the sound of broken ribs, as Neal cried out. His shoulder was next for the bat to come down on, afterwards it looked dis-jointed and his right arm felt numb. His left leg was repeatedly hit, causing further pain to his ankle. Then came the ultimate. The bat was swing with such force to the right side of Neal's head, he became limp and lifeless. Peter cried out, but Tom just smiled, dropped the bat, and left.


	10. Chapter 10

**Right, the rescue is here people. Thanks for the feedback… keep the reviews coming! No more torture to come, just the aftermath, awe warning of emotional pain, cos why not?**

Chapter 10

"You can't do this! You can't leave us here, he'll die!"

But he didn't care, turning out the light, plunging the room into darkness, only silhouettes being seen. The silence was cut into by Peter's short breaths. Neal's slumped figure, head bowed, unmoving was all he could see, eyes trained on him.

"Neal? Wake up, please. I'm here, and we'll be fine. FBI's coming, you're going to be ok. I promise. But you have to keep fighting, please."

He knew he wasn't going to get a response, but saying the words helped him to stay calm. Feel like he was in control, but he wasn't. And there was nothing he could do about it.

The dripping of blood was going through him, each one adding to his internal pain. Then he heard another noise, distant and faint, but there. He sat up straighter, ignoring the pain in his shoulders and numbness in his arms. Straining, he heard gravel under heavy vehicles. Holding his breath he waits, looking over to his still unconscious friend, suspended in mid air.

Foot steps were next, many, heavy and loud. They were here. They were finally here to save them. He sat even straighter, "IN HERE! WE'RE DOWN HERE!" His voice was surprisingly strong and loud, throat sore, hurting with every word. But he didn't care, Neal needed him.

The foot falls were getting closer, scratching heard at the other side of the door. They had found them. "Neal? Neal? They're here, we're going to be ok, OK? Please, fight..."

But that was as far as he got, the door burst open and the room was filled with light. Hughes, Jones and Diana came down the stairs, guns drown, first seeing Peter . They were trying to stay professional, going to him immediately, checking he was relatively ok. But Hughes turned, seeing Neal for the first time. He couldn't breath, air catching his throat.

"Berrigan, Jones, get him out of here. Now. And bring paramedics, I don't care if the building's been cleared, just get them down here." Both agents had turned, trying to take in the sight of their friend. Neither said a word as they quickly removed the zip ties. They had to hold Peter back.

"Neal! Is he ok?" Neal?" Trying to get to his friend, but swaying with every movement. Each agent grabbed an arm, pushing him back against the wall, trying to calm him.

"We don't know boss, but you need to come with us, outside so we can send in the paramedics, we won't all fit down here." Diana quickly swung his arm over her shoulder, Jones doing the same. Half carrying half dragging him away from Neal, as he fights to go back.

Hughes walks over, looking his consultant up and down, taking stock of his multiple injuries. Taking a shaking finger, placing it against his neck, barely feeling the slow and faint pulse beneath it. Letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding, he grabbed his radio, "He's still alive, get those medics down here now."

Pocketing the device, he tries to rouse Neal, gently tapping his face, bringing it up to meet his, not wanting to cause anymore pain. He gasped at the blood caked on the right side of his face and head, most dry, some new. He just stood there, holding Neal Caffrey's face in his hands, until the medics came crashing down the narrow staircase.

"33 year old male, significant head trauma as well as full body injuries. Lost a lot of blood and still losing it. I'm staying with him." He added the last sentence so the medics didn't kick him out. But the looks on their faces told they were glad of the extra support.

"We need to put on a neck brace, avoid further neck injuries, then we have to get him on the back board, insert an IV and get him upstairs. We can't give any kind of medication without knowing if he's been drugged... that means he will be in a great deal of pain when ever we start until we get him to the ambulance, we need you to keep him calm when he wakes."

As he was saying this, the female medic was placing a neck brace on the injured man, cringing at what she saw. She looked in his pupils, giving a nod and smile at what she found. "Pupils equal and reactive."

Hughes braced himself, ready to catch Neal as he was released. The medics went behind, briefly staring at the state of his back, getting ready to cut the belt cutting off the circulation to his feet. As soon as they did, Neal woke, groaning loudly in pain, becoming a yell, eyes still closed.

"We got ya Caffrey, let it out, we ain't bothered, just stay with us."

Hughes had his hands back on Neal's face, looking at his screwed up eyes, trying to keep him calm and knowing he wasn't alone, or in any more danger.

"Sir, get ready, as soon as we cut the ropes, you'll help us lift him on to the back board." Hughes noticed Neal's feet dragged behind him, meaning he had been supported by his outstretched arms the whole time. He shivered.

The ropes were cut, as close to where they were tied as possible, as they were deep into the skin. At once, Neal was awake, screaming as loud as possible, feeling as though his arm were on fire. Shoulder numb, right arm with no sensation. He was lowered on to the board fast, with an oxygen mask being placed on his face. Hughes noticed they were keeping his arms outstretched at his side.

"Right arm's blue, no pulse. Blood isn't getting through."

"At least four ribs broken on the left, two on the right, we need to get to the hospital now."

Neal was awake, looking at the only person he recognised to anchor himself through the pain. Hughes was above him, half listening to what the medics were saying, fully focused on stroking his thumb on Neal's forehead. He sees lips move beneath the mask. Without thinking, he moves it aside while the medics are discussing how to get up the stairs.

"Neal? Listen to me, you are going to be fine, you hear? You have to stay awake, I can't imagine how much pain your in, but you need to hold on."

He leans in closer to hear, "Pe...ter?"

The voice was broken, sore and detached. He was scared, something he rarely was, or showed. Hughes put a hand on each side of his face, "He is fine. He's outside, you'll see him in a minute. Elisabeth is fine, and she can't wait to see you either."

"Sir, we have to move, his right arm is seriously compromised, we need to make it so we can fit up the stairs, but it shouldn't really be moved, meaning this is going to be fast."

All three braced themselves. The male medic took the left arm, Neal crying out when it is moved beside his body. He took the right, saying a soft apology, before pulling it as close to the body as possible, and Neal screamed. All three moved, picking up the board, almost running up the stairs, hearing Neal's volume increase with each step.

Reaching the top, the board was set down, right arm being outstretched again, both medics setting about to brace it out for the ride. Hughes stroked Neal's forehead, as he tried to stay conscious. The pain was consuming, whole body now numb, his sight fading.

"Sir, we have to get him out and on route, now."

Picking up the board, Neal only whimpered, the strength leaving his body. Peter was sitting in the back of the ambulance, waiting. His face paled and he jumped up when he saw Neal coming.


	11. Chapter 11

**So, we're at the hospital. glad people seem to be liking it so far... review and let me know what you all are thinking!**

Chapter 11

Sitting, with the beep of the heart monitor in his ear, he stares blankly at the man lying prone in front of him, eyes open and glazed. The monitor speeds up as more pressure is added to the right arm knife wounds.

"Don't do that. You're hurting him." The medic just glanced over. As his arm was still outstretched, Peter was sitting in line with his hips. His eyes didn't move from his friends face. The sound of his voice brought Neal's eyes over to him. A faint smile flickered on his lips.

oOo

Drawing up to the hospital broke the harmonious atmosphere of the ambulance. And Neal's heart rate shot up. Peter grabbed his left hand, down by his side, running by the stretcher, remaining in Neal's sight. This gave a point to focus on as he was wheeled through different peering eyes. Going into the trauma room, Peter was torn away from his side, his eyes still open.

Standing outside the door, trying to see in, he felt – not for the first time since this started – useless. His team hadn't made it there yet and he knew he couldn't leave him alone, not now, not here.

A hand landed softly on his shoulder, but he still flinched. The small female nurse pulled her hand back quickly, smile plastered on her face. She was staring at him for a moment before asking if he was Peter Burke, and that his wife was upstairs asking if he was there yet. Torn, he looked back at the closed door, Neal injured on the other side. Seeing this, the nurse told him she would tell him the minute anything changed. So he followed her to see his wife, glancing back at the friend he felt he was leaving behind.

oOo

The nurse walked him into a small room, made bed and hospital issue gown. El wasn't there, Neal wasn't there, he shouldn't be here.

"Thought you were taking me to my wife?" Staring blankly at the woman behind him, his breath is stopped by El rushing into the door frame, and suddenly, he forgets everything else.

"Oh my god, honey," she takes two strides forward, wrapping him in a hug, then whispers in his ear, "I'm so glad you're ok, I thought I was going to loose you."

Drawing back, he looks at her. She looked tired, her eye black and blue. She was wearing a standard issue FBI sweatshirt and training bottoms. But she was still beautiful, just what he needed after what he had seen. Neal. His head snapped back to the nurse,

"Where is he, can I see him?"

"They're working on him now, you stay here, get checked out and I'll update you when I can." With that the door closed. Leaving more silence.

He stepped back, falling on the bed. She saw his figure was slumped, eyes haunted. She didn't know what happened, where he had been, and she wasn't sure she wanted too. But, seeing him like this, she knew she had to understand. Sitting beside him, she wrapped her arm around his shoulder. He flinched slightly at first, but soon relaxed. They sat like that until the doctor came in.

He wore his white coat, over hospital scrubs. His hair was dark and wavy, square glasses perched on his nose. He looked nice, serious and exactly who you want in a situation like this. He pulled a chair close to the pair and sat.

"Mr and Mrs Burke I presume?"

The couple didn't say anything. They took each other's hand, steadying themselves for what was to come.

"I was down in the ER with Mr Caffery, he is now going into surgery. He sustained multiple injuries covering his entire body, but I'm guessing you already know that. We'll start at the top." He opens the folder in his lap. Peter felt like he couldn't breath, he knew how bad it looked, but he also knew hearing it was going to make it real, documented.

"Mr Caffery sustained a superficial head injury. No symptoms of long-term damage have been detected and it looks as though it will stay that way, he is lucky in this respect. Minimal contusions on the neck cause us to be extra vigilant, but they too look superficial and no true cause for concern." The couple could tell he was leading up to what was really happening, just easing them in. The doctor was about to begin again when Hughes appeared at the door, knocking before letting himself in. His white shirt was stained with blood.

He motioned to the other chair, silently asking if he could sit, doing so after Peter nodded, then nodded for the doctor to continue.

"His left shoulder has some pulled muscles and significant bruising. This will heal easily over time. His right shoulder on the other hand is a bit more difficult. It has at least one broken bone and limited blood supply. It also caused nerve damage for the limb which, if not treated correctly, could cause paralysis. This is worst case, but I want you to be prepared for the outcome."

His three listeners were silent, a shocked look on their faces. He waited to let it sink in before starting again, "He has 8 broken ribs in total, one pierced the left lung but it wasn't enough to cause serious damage. His spleen is ruptured, and as he wasn't at the hospital soon after, it will have to be removed. His chest, abdomen and lower back has traumatic bruising and we will have to keep an eye on this for complications. His left leg has deep bruising and, although not broken, will need to be stabilised in a brace for three weeks. The left ankle had some serious burns which reached the bone in certain areas, the wound also became infected due to... ill treatment will we call it." He stopped there, looking up at Peter, who obviously knew he meant how Neal was restrained when they were found.

He noticed the doctor hadn't said anything about the knife wounds on Neal's back and forearms, but he supposed they weren't life threatening. But he still wanted to know. The only thing stopping him was El, she didn't know, and he didn't want to bring it up in front of her. Glancing at Hughes, he saw his eyes were closed and head was resting on the wall behind him, absorbing the information given, picturing Neal in his head how he last saw him. These thoughts were interrupted by El.

"When do you think we can see him?"

"He'll be in surgery for the next couple of hours, they will repair internal damage, as well as reconstructing the shoulder and removing the scarred tissue in the ankle. Afterwards him will be taken to the ICU, only family is allowed to visit but considering his medical records, you sir will be granted full access."

It took Peter a second to realise what the doctor had said, "What about his records?"

"He has you registered as his next of kin and medical proxy."


	12. Chapter 12

**Hi, chapter 12, pleeeaaase let me know what you think!**

Chapter 12

The room was quiet after the doctor left. He hadn't been asked about any other wounds. Peter didn't know what to say. To think Neal had him as next of kin, not to mention as the person to make potentially life changing decisions for him, and he was only here because of Peter.

"He must have named you when he got his deal with the FBI." It was a statement more than a question. But it was said with some uncertainty. She didn't really know what to say, but seeing her husband so silent was scaring her.

"No. It was like that before he came, through out his sentence, I remember he said he didn't need to change it. I though he had just kept it as the state." Peter looked over at Hughes, who was trying to help by giving this information, but was really making it harder to understand.

oOo

Almost five hours passed before the doctor came back. He looked tired and worn out. Hughes had left, but was back by the time the doctor was. Peter had been checked over and given mild antibiotics in case of infection. He was also changed and in the bed as he was being kept over night for observation. He, Hughes and El were sitting together. El and the boss chatting about something Peter wasn't really listening to. His head snapped up as the door opened, the doctor standing to address them.

"Mr Caffrey made it through surgery and now is in the ICU. The next 24 hours are critical and we will need to keep a close eye on him." Peter smirked at that, Neal would hate being under such scrutiny.

"Can we see him?" El asked the question she knew Peter would want to know.

"We'll give it a few hours until you can go in to see him, but I'm sure we can take you to the ICU." Peter was on the move before he had finished speaking. The doctor had brought a wheel chair, insisting he used it. But he didn't care, just wanting to see his friend.

oOo

The ICU was quiet and busy at the same time. Few visitors were there, but plenty of doctors and nurses rushed around. The doctor guided them to the furthest glass room. Two guards were outside, armed. It was the first time Peter thought about he and Neal still being in danger. Looking through the glass, his breath caught in his throat. He felt El behind him, hearing her gasp, Hughes on the other side, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

Neal was lying, intubated with a large tube down his throat, right arm suspended by a hoist structure, keeping it in place. The sheets covered his lower half, wrap around bandages covering the top, the extra bandage on his back barely visible. Both fore-arms were wrapped white, left leg in the brace, foot and ankle wrapped. He didn't look like he was sleeping, Peter knew he would be in pain. And he couldn't look at it anymore.

oOo

Settling into the bed for his night stay, he was alone. El went to the hotel to change and rest, Hughes went to the office to search for the guys responsible. But Peter couldn't rest, couldn't leave. He just lay there, staring at the ceiling, the past two days flooding back, running through his mind, all leading up to one image. Neal, lying defenceless, alone, and hurting. He had to see him again.

Walking out in the corridor, the place was empty, only a few nurses at their base. He went to the elevator, pushing the button the doctor did earlier.

The ICU was even quieter, with fewer staff, but still busier than his ward. He didn't get very far before someone was calling on him to stop. But he didn't listen. The nurse came up to him, grabbing his arm. He flinched. He doesn't know why exactly, but she was unexpected. She acted as though he burnt her, pulling her hand back fast. She recognised him, from earlier. Knew why he would be here. She let him walk.

He was on edge, but knew he had to see him.

Reaching the back room, he saw him. He looked the same, but this time Peter really looked. A silver flash was visible on the left wrist. He looked at the men sitting feet away and he knew what it was. He walked to the door, opening it and walking up to the left side. Seeing his friend this close was heart breaking. He reached for his hand, softly putting his over it. The hand was cold, almost ice. The hot redness from the wrist rope injury slightly spreading from under the bandage. It was a sharp contrast from the white, and the silver metal.

"Thought I'd find you here." Hughes' deep voice startled him from his thoughts. He looked up, not removing his hand. He should be embarrassed, slightly guilty for being there but he was too angry to feel anything else.

"He's handcuffed to the bed." It was all he could grind out though his gritted teeth. His hand tightened on his friend. He saw the two guards hovering near by. The fact they didn't notice he had entered the room means they weren't there for potential threats coming in, but for Neal going out. Hughes looked humble, he knew.

"It had to be done, without the anklet, they would have sent him back to prison. This was the best thing I could talk them into. I'm sorry." And he looked it. He was here in the middle of the night.

Peter looked back down to the damaged arm being restrained. He knew why, but he didn't like it. He sat on the chair beside him, Hughes coming in – shutting the door – and sitting on the opposite side. They didn't say anything, the noise of the ventilator and the constant beep of the heart monitor filling the room.

oOo

"He asked for you."

Peter just looked at him, unsure at first what he meant. But Hughes wasn't paying him any attention, just had his eyes fixed on Neal. And Peter knew.

"When?" If the room wasn't so quiet, the word wouldn't have been heard. But it was heard and it made Hughes face him.

"When we were in the cellar. The paramedics had just got him on the back board, he was awake and in pain. I had to keep him calm, well as calm as possible, and he asked for you."

He almost made it sound normal. Like it happened everyday. But the look in his eye told a different story. It was haunting him, just like it was Peter.

"Thank you. For telling me, and for being with him." He looked back to his friend, those two days once again flashing through his head. They were silent again.


	13. Chapter 13

**Right, next. Think I might end up putting two on today. Thank you for your great feedback, review and let me know what you think.!**

Chapter 13

Next thing he knows, he's waking up in the uncomfortable chair he was sitting in the night before. Hughes was gone, the ICU was getting busier, people rushing around. He looked at Neal, unmoving and with a pained expression on his face. He didn't look like that last night, and the heat monitor was beeping faster. Getting up, Peter walked out the door, briefly glancing at the two guards, going over to the nurse's station.

"Excess me, my friend in room 8 seems to be in some distress."

She looked up at him, then towards the screens on the wall with various vitals from the different patients. Dropping her file and walking towards the desk opening, she started towards Neal's room. Peter followed close behind.

Neal's condition had deteriorated since Peter had left. It was as if he was choking, sweat gathering on his forehead. The nurse quickly left the room, Peter staying behind to watch over his friend. He heard a page go out over head, asking for Neal's doctor to come. Peter watched as Neal got more distressed, choking sounds filling the air, heart rate through the roof. He walked around the bed, taking Neal's left hand in his, softly murmuring to him. He felt his tense struggling body relax some.

The doctor from the day before came in, he looked the same, clearly been here all night. He gave Peter a curt nod before checking on his patient. He takes blood pressure, heart rate and oxygen statistics. Peter doesn't move. The look on the doctor's face is concerning, like he isn't really sure what is happening.

"What is it? What's happening to him?" Peter had to know. He couldn't wait any longer.

"I think... I think he's breathing on his own," he looks up at the agent, smile on his face, "we didn't expect this for at least another day. He's fighting the intubation."

"That's good though, right? I mean, he's getting better?"

"Yeah, or at least he's trying to. His vitals have been steadily improving over night. They point towards him being able to handle being off the vent." He was motioning for a nurse to come into the room. When she did, they spoke together. Peter stayed where he was, watching Neal.

"Ok Agent we are going to remove the vent now. You can step outside, or..."

"I'm staying." In his mind, there was no 'or'.

oOo

He had been discharged but told he was free to stay in Neal's room for as long as he wanted, but only him. El had come back mid day to find his room empty. She was scared. But soon figured out where he'd be. She had clothes for him and some non-hospital food, she walked up to a ICU nurse asking for him, but the nurse knew who she was looking for before she had the chance to say anything.

Peter had been sitting, hand on Neal's, staring at his face. It took a minute for El to realise Neal wasn't intubated. She walked in, startling her husband, and sat on the other side. His right arm was held up and was paler than the rest of his body. She gave him the bag she had packed, so he could change, sitting with Neal while he did. She noticed the handcuff on the left, but didn't mention it.

Visiting hours were almost up and El would have to leave. She wanted Peter to leave with her, as she was staying in a hotel until the house was sorted. But she knew he needed to be here, knew it from the look in his eyes. She looked at Neal's arms, both bandaged to the elbows, his back looked to have added white compared to the front. She hadn't asked, didn't know if she wanted to know, but knew she was going to have to find out.

"What happened?" It was simple but had a noticeable effect on her husband. He knew he would have to talk about it eventually, statements to the FBI mostly, but he didn't know what to say, not yet. And not to her. But he looked at her, he knew she was determined, and she deserved to know. He was about to reply when she continued, "The doctor didn't say anything about injuries to his arms apart from his shoulders. Why are they wrapped up?"

"The guy... he..." Peter didn't know how to say the words. He was physically pained every time he thought about it, "he used a knife, and … he wrote... " He felt the lump rise in his throat, stopping all words, the tears come to his eyes. She was putting the pieces together, looking at her friend, lying in pain, mental and physical. She tried to blink away her tears but they fell just the same.

She was about to say something, but the nurse walked in to say visiting hours were over, and she'd have to leave. They were going to bring in a portable bed for Peter to stay as long as he wanted. So El kept her words in, walking over to kiss her husband, and walking out. Looking back to see him still where she left him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Well the last one didn't have much happening, so here you go! Let me know what you all think!**

Chapter 14

Peter didn't know how long he had sat there. Over night, he didn't move, sleeping up right instead of in the bed provided for him. He wanted to be in easy reach if Neal woke up, something the doctors said could happen quicker than they though, since he was off the vent quick. They had lowered his sedatives to allow him to wake. But he hadn't moved since the vent was removed.

It had been two and a half days since they were admitted. Peter was exhausted, sitting vigilant by his friend's bedside. He had tried to sleep, but his mind was racing and he couldn't. Not until Neal was ok, maybe not even then. He was in his usual position, hand resting next to Neal's, head bowed, resting on top of it when he felt something. It was slight and wouldn't have been noticeable if he hadn't been waiting for it for days.

Something grazed his finger.

His head snapped up, looking at his friend's face. At first he thought he'd imagined it, but Neal's pinkie finger moved again, resting on his. He grabbed Neal's hand, as the heart monitor showed his heart was speeding up. Peter had seen that happen once before, when he was hurt in the ambulance, when he was scared. He was waking up.

His left eye fluttered open, the right swollen shut from the hit to the head. His heart rate shot up again. Peter stood above him, directly in his line of sight. He put his hand on to Neal's head, trying to calm him. He heard the monitor quieten a bit, felt Neal slowly and lightly wrap his hand around Peter's. He looked into his friend's open eye and smiled, the first time since this all started. It quickly vanished when Neal began to grimace in pain.

As soon as he pressed the call button, the room was filled with staff. And he was pushed aside. He could hear Neal's monitor getting louder, it made him uneasy. People were rushing around him, checking everything, but all Peter could do was watch the constant twitch in Neal's left foot.

oOo

An hour had passed and Peter was again alone with Neal, taking up his post next to him. Neal had been in and out of consciousness but was starting to understand more around him. After waking with mumbling words, he opened his left eye really seeing Peter for the first time. And he smiled. It was small and subtle, but it was there, and Peter saw it, smiling back.

"Hey buddy, how you doing?"

He opened his mouth but his throat was so hoarse he couldn't say anything. Trying made him cough and that movement made everything hurt. He felt something at his face, re-opening his eye to see Peter had brought over a small plastic cup with a straw. He sipped it, feeling the warm liquid sooth his throat enough to speak.

"It's warm." Peter smiled hearing his friend's voice – albeit weak – after so long, after so much.

"Yeah, yeah it is. We can't lower your body temperature anymore. They have warming blankets on you too." The cold in the cellar, coupled with the wet weather and infection had caused concern for pneumonia developing, fortunately it hadn't but they were still being cautious, "you didn't answer me, how you going?"

"I'm ok. I think. Sore, everywhere," he went to feel the right side of his head, but his arm wouldn't move, the pain seared through his body rapidly, barely letting Peter's words of reassurance enter his mind. But it did, eventually and he focused on it.

"Shhh... you're ok, just don't do that."

"Could... could have told... me earlier," he shut his eye and breathed through his nose. Peter hated seeing him like this. His senses returned and he opened his eye to look at him, giving a small smirk.

"How bad?" Peter knew what he meant, and finally he felt he could talk to someone.

"No head or neck injuries, no respiratory problems and no back injuries." He felt this was a good place to start, that maybe Neal wouldn't ask about any more. But seeing him just stare was enough to tell Peter he was being stupid thinking it. He bowed his head, not wanting to tell his friend what he had to be told, wanting to spare him at least this, but he knew he couldn't. So he looked up, and stared him in the eye.

"You're right shoulder was broken. They have repaired it but... but their unsure how much function you'll have." He knew that was going to be the hardest thing, so he said it first. Neal turned his head to the ceiling, eye closed, trying to process through his foggy brain. His head came back up, but eye remained shut, his teeth were gritted when he said, "what else?" He had to know.

"Eight broken ribs, small tear to the lung, but not a threat. Spleen was ruptured and removed. Your left leg isn't broken but there is heavy bruising and will be in a brace for at least three weeks. Your ankle was badly burnt and infected, so it will have to be immobilised as much as possible. I haven't asked about..." This is where he stopped. When ever he though about the mess of Neal's arms and back, he felt bile rise in his throat. Neal noticed the pause that turned into a stop. He opened his eye, looking at Peter.

"It's ok. You don't have to do this."

Peter bowed his head, trying to hide the tears in his eyes. Hearing Neal say this almost broke his heart, he had to be strong. Neal went to lift his hand, to reach out to his friend, but was sharply stopped by the handcuff around his bandaged wrist. He make a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper as the metal clanged on the bed rail. It made Peter look up, bleary eyed. He saw the betrayed expression on Neal's face and closed his eyes.

"I tried to get them to take them off." But Neal wasn't listening, he was looking outside the glass walls, to the two guards sitting at the door. He knew what they were there for, he was a criminal and a flight risk. He looked back to Peter, seeing the pain in his eyes as he looked at the cuff. He moved his fingers to brush against his, making him look up.

"It's ok. It's ok. I understand. It's not your … your fault." He was getting tired, Peter saw it. He was fading. And as Neal closed his eyes to sleep, so did Peter.


	15. Chapter 15

Hey again. Probably two again today, got nothing else to do! Review and let me know what you think… over 50 so far, thank you all!

Chapter 15

He woke to the increased beeping of the heart monitor. Forgetting where he was, the noise didn't register. But then it did, and he snapped his eyes open to see Neal lying still, head to the side, with a sheen of sweat covering his face. Peter knew what was happening, seeing his eyes screwed shut in pain. He didn't know what to do, looking outside, the nurses were rushing about, focusing on a patient emergency at the other end of the ICU.

He needed to wake Neal up, but he was scared to, worried about how he would re-act. As the monitor got louder he knew he had to do something. Putting his hand on Neal's left shoulder, his friend's eye sprung open. Drawing in a breath, he moved his left arm so fast the handcuff made the newly stitched wrist bleed. He was scared, terrified, flinching back when he realised he wasn't alone, relaxing when he realised it was just Peter.

He heard the monitor slow down, saw Neal relax, breathe, come out of where ever he had been, eye focusing. The room was quiet, except the monitor calming and the harshness of Neal's breathing. He felt awkward now, just standing staring. He sat back down, keeping his eyes on his friend. It was like this for a few minutes until Neal opened his left eye, staring up at the ceiling.

"Sorry." It was said quiet and ashamed, it made Peter mad.

"Don't you dare apologies for anything." He must have said it sharper than he meant as Neal's head snapped up to look at him. He gave a small smile. His eye went to his left wrist automatically, but regretting it afterwards, as Peter's eyes followed. And he looked pissed.

"It's ok, don't worry about it, easy fixed..." He didn't get much further as the door opened, the nurse came in. Worried look on her face.

"Is everything ok? The monitor was showing an inconsistency."

Neal was staring at him, he could feel it. He should tell her what had happened, but Neal didn't want him to. He knew it.

"No, everything's fine, thank you." She was too busy to ask further, just smiling and leaving. Neal was staring at the ceiling again, left hand with a slight tremor. Peter had had enough. He stood, starting to walk towards the door, the guards, he vaguely heard Neal tell him to stop, but he wasn't going to.

He was out and in their face before they noticed. Neal watched him, shouting something at them, it would have been funny if it wasn't terrifying. He didn't know what he was doing, but had a good idea. He looked at his left wrist, the blood soaking through the bandage. It hurt, but the medication dulled it. He was glad.

"Give it to me."

"Agent, we don't know what you mean." They probably didn't but it wasn't going to stop him.

"The key to the handcuff, it shouldn't be there and it's coming off, now." His voice was lower than he wanted, but for Neal's sake he kept it low. They were about to say something, but soon decided against it. A large hand was clasped around his shoulders, hard enough that his flinch was hardly noticeable.

"Agent Burke, if you would go back into the room, I have to speak to you and Mr Caffrey." Hughes was brisk, already turning Peter away from the men and towards the room. He walked away, hearing his boss ask then what he had wanted before walking back into the room, leaving the door open. He felt Neal's eyes on him until he stopped, standing at the window. They looked at each other. Silence.

It was really early morning, but Hughes knew they'd be awake. He walked through the room door, closing it quietly behind him. Sitting beside Peter's usual space, he looked at Neal, happy he was awake.

"Heard you were with us, had to see it for myself." He smiled – Neal smiled back – before glancing at the cuffed wrist. Blood evident on the bandage. He frowned, pulling the key he had just received from his pocket.

"You said you needed to talk to us sir." Peter wasn't about to make this easy. He was staring out the to the city below.

"First thing's first. This needs addressed." He was referring to the cuff, Peter turned to look, seeing the key in his hand. A small smile spreading on his face. As Hughes removed the cuff, Neal tried not to wince. Hughes – picking up on it – glanced at his face, a small nod telling him to carry on. Seeing Neal in pain, intentional of not, made Peter tense, gaze narrowing, before turning to face them, sitting on the wide window ledge, watching every move made.

As soon as it was off, he pulled his arm over his torso. It was painful and he groaned, causing Peter to move forward slightly. He looked at him and smiled, telling him he was ok.

"Well, I talked to the doctor and he is confident you will be moved to an other ward, private room as you are no longer listed as critical. That could be as early as this afternoon." Neal perked up at that, glancing at Peter, who was smiling in relief.

"But, we have to put the anklet back on, if you... "

"No Reese, god. Can't we leave him? Look at him. He's not going anywhere even if he wanted to." He was angry, but Neal was calm, "Ok, that's fine." He felt Peter look at him, eyes boring into the side of his head, but he didn't look.

"OK, I'll bring it next time I come. Put it on." The room was silent, Neal and Hughes looking at each other. Peter shaking his head, looking out the window, not wanting to argue.

"Now, why I'm really here.."


	16. Chapter 16

**Right, next one, thought I better not leave it hanging. Something dodgy happened to my review notification so I logged in and found almost 20 more than I thought! Thank you all for your support, keep reviewing!**

Chapter 16

"We've had people working round the clock for the past three days, combing through evidence. Now I know neither of you will be ready to give a statement, and that's ok, just tell me when." Now Neal looked at Peter, he was already looking back. Both checking if each other was ok.

"We retrieved finger prints from the cellar," hearing him say that word sent shivers down Neal's spine, hurting his injuries, "although we haven't found any matches, we're still checking."

Both men looked at each other. Although interesting, Hughes wouldn't have come to the hospital just to tell them this. He was leading up to something, not sure how to say it.

"We found... items. We are having them checked as well," Peter could only imagine what they had found, glancing at Neal briefly before turning out to the window, "we found a camera."

Peter's head snapped round, staring at Hughes, Neal looking at Peter. He felt his breath stop at what his boss had just said.

"No." It was all he could say. Neal looked to the ceiling, closing is eye and breathing deep, reliving everything in a flash. Trying to focus back on the situation, he could hear Hughes talking;

"Peter I know. But it has to be investigated, it has..."

"No. No. No one sees it. I'll give my statement, I'll go through it as much times as you need, but no, no one sees it, watches it. Just no." He was standing, pacing back and forward, but Neal didn't notice, just thought about being there, the pain and the lack of control. But so was Peter.

"Burke listen to me," they were both standing Hughes trying to keep his agents' attention, "when we get this guy we NEED to put him away, we NEED concrete evidence..."

"And I'll give you it, I'll put my statement on record and I'll stand up and testify in court, but I will not let you do this. He has been through enough," he pointed at a still silent Neal, "without you making him relive it time and time again. Having everyone see for themselves, having the court play it over and over. You are not going to do it, I will not let you."

Hughes just looked at him. He was serious. He had never seen his agent act this way before, close to him, threatening. He had wedged him self between Hughes and Neal, standing protectively in front of the fragile man in the bed. The man who still had his eyes closed, a pained look on his face. They hadn't noticed the quickened speed of the heart monitor until they were silent.

Both went over to Neal, seeing the uncomfortable look on his face. He knew Peter was just saying it to protect him, that – truthfully – his friend wasn't strong enough to go over it again and again, to stand up and say he had to watch everything. He didn't know he was going to say it, until it was out, through gritted teeth.

"Watch it."

The room was silent, monitor calming down. The nurse came back to the door, but Hughes smiled, telling her it was ok, so she didn't come in. Peter sat in his chair, hand on Neal's arm, shocked expression on his face, looking at his friend. Hughes spoke first, Neal's eye opening to look at him.

"Are you sure Caffery?"

"Yes," he looked at Peter, giving a soft smile, "you don't have to give a statement, not to anyone, it's ok. You shouldn't relive it like that, it's not fair. None of this was your fault."

"And you think it's fair for everyone to see it, watch? Neal, listen to me, you..." The nurse came in to check on Neal's vitals, Peter stopping mid sentence, standing and walking back over to the window, "Sorry, hope I'm not interrupting, just checking you'll be ok for moving later today."

"It's fine, we were just talking," Neal was focused on Peter as he said this to the new guest. He was feeling overwhelmed, having her there made him calmer, while feeling more agitated. Hughes stepped forward;

"I'll come back later and we'll discuss this further."

"We're not discussing anything because it's not happening." Peter wasn't backing down, turning again to his boss, taking a step closer. His vision was tunnelled to Hughes only, oblivious to anything else around him. Neal noticed this, saying his name to get him to calm down, smiling apologetically to the nurse beside him.

"You don't understand, what they did, what they put him through..."

"Peter..."

"They tied him up..."

"Peter..."

"Beat him, stripped him..."

"Peter."

"Electrocuted him..." he was stepping closer and closer to his boss.

"Peter!" The urgency in his voice evident to all except the man who he needed it to be heard by. He was feeling weak, loosing energy, feeling the vomit rise in his chest every time Peter brought another memory back to the foreground. He was panicking, hearing his monitor quicken, the room blurring. The nurse next to him knew what was happening, she grabbed for the basin under the bed.

"Then they cut him, multiple time, hearing him cry out, watching..." That's as far as he got, head whipping round to see Neal vomit into the basin barely settled on the bed. The monitor was sounding loud, Neal continued to retch, pain on his face, as he started to shake slightly. Peter snapped out of his angered haze, stepping towards his friend, stopped by the nurse.

"Leave him alone, I think you've done enough damage. Get out before I call security."

He was stunned, flinching back at the thought he had caused his friend more pain. He looked at Neal, pale and shaking, bent over the basin trying to calm him self. Peter backed away hands raised, walking around the bed, glancing at his friend, looking at him, looking scared.

Outside, he and Hughes sat. He knew it got out of hand, but he didn't remember what happened, all he could see was Neal scared, looking scared of him. Putting his elbows on his knees, head bowed into his hands, he tried to steady his nerves. Neal was asleep, exhausted, it was down to him. He felt a hand on his back, startled slightly, his boss gently tapping between his shoulder blades.

oOo

"Don't blame yourself, it's totally understandable" Hearing Hughes say this he felt worse. Picking his head up, he looked at his boss. Feeing defeated, he slumped back to rest against the chair. They sat there for a few minutes until Peter spoke.

"I can't have anyone watching it. What they did to him... what he had to go through, while I just sat and watched... I can't..."

"This isn't your fault. You didn't cause this, didn't want this. You did what you could, I know it, Neal knows it and so does every one else. You would never willingly let them hurt him."

His boss was right. But he couldn't accept it. Someone needed to be blamed, and the guy hadn't been caught. He looked ahead, not noticing the words were leaving his mouth, "I close my eyes and I see him, hanging there, in pain or unconscious. I hear a sudden noise and it turns into him screaming, him telling me it was ok, telling the guy I wasn't going to say anything so he'd 'best get started'. I can't have people seeing it, hearing it, Neal deserves better. Couldn't protect him then, but I sure as hell can do it now."

He looked his boss in the eye. Making sure what he was saying got through. And it did.

"Ok. We'll try it your way. But you have to prepare yourself for it. I want you to go to the hotel El is in, get some rest, have a shower, kiss your wife, what ever you need. I will meet you back here in two hours, ready to see Caffrey in the other ward. Then, we will go to a room and you'll give your statement. Once we're done, he will be settled in his room and we can go from there. Ok?"

"Ok, thank you."

"But one thing that is not negotiable, the anklet needs to go on before he is moved. I will bring it back with me, and we will both be there."

Peter was shaking his head, not believing this was being pushed this quick. But didn't have the chance to comment.

"I have to do it, don't want to but have to. Neal agreed, he knows the minute he isn't in the controlled environment of the ICU, a guard will be in the room 24/7. He will always be classed as a flight risk, you know that. And we also both know why the cuff was yanked and burst his stitches. You really want him to had to have a audience for that night after night?"

Looking at his boss, Peter knew it was true, it was the last thing he wanted. He nodded, looking ahead again. After silence, both stood, Hughes patting Peter's shoulder before he left to see his wife.


	17. Chapter 17

**Next! Thank you all for your comments, keep reviewing! Only three more after this... wee warning lol!**

Chapter 17

Two hours had passed, and he was back, armed with food for Neal – courtesy of El – and clean shaven. He had seen her, given an update and they had fallen asleep together on the hotel bed. He had woken with a start, something she didn't comment on.

Walking in to Neal's room, he felt nervous, worried about how he would react to seeing Peter again. But he saw Neal laughing at something Hughes had said. Both looked over to their new guest, Neal didn't bat an eye.

"Hey, 'bout time you got here, Hughes was telling me about your first case together, sounds interesting." He looked to Peter, who stood next to Hughes, taking in the scene, smiling.

"I bet it does, was definitely something else. How you feeling?" He changed the subject to something he had been wondering since he left.

"Better, thanks. Sorry about that earlier, I just..."

"No, don't apologies, don't worry about it." The silence was awkward and Peter looked to Hughes. This was as good a time as any to get it over with.

Hughes stood and he walked beside his friend. Neal felt strange, like something was about to happen. Peter was by his head, but his eyes remained on Hughes, walking to the base of the bed with a small black box.

"You're being moved to another ward, and before that happens, we need to replace the anklet. I'm sorry buddy, but if not, you will have to be under close watch and this is better." Hughes took the anklet out the box. It looked the same as the last, and Neal's heart rate quickened. Peter reached and grabbed his hand. He squeezed back, still watching Hughes.

He felt nervous, like he was hurting the consultant, the way they had. He wasn't looking anymore, head back looking at the ceiling. This had to be done, he knew it, but seeing it brought back that night, the pain, defencelessness, fear before this had all begun.

Hughes lifted the blanket, wanting to do it quickly, but stopped seeing the thin bandage wrapped around the right ankle. His eyes flicked up to Peter, having seen the ankle too. They just looked at each other.

"Just do it, it's fine." Neal didn't open his eyes, but he knew why they were hesitating. The cuts for the belt restraining his ankles weren't large but they had still needed stitched. He just wanted it to be over. He felt a hand around the area, tensing without realising, Peter squeezing harder.

Feeling the plastic on that ankle was weird, but it was tolerable. He opened his left eye, giving a small smile. The nurse came in at that point, ready to start the process of moving him and the equipment holding his right arm immobile to another floor. Hughes left the room, talking to the two guards, before they left.

"Hey, you're gonna go down, get settled and I'm gonna see you in a bit. I have to speak to Hughes but I'll come back, promise." He let go of Neal's hand, stepping back. The look on his friend's face was one of confusion.

"I have to go over my statement, I know you said they could watch the... but I have to try before they do, my statement... it could mean they don't have to. I have to try.."

"But I don't want you to, you shouldn't go through it..."

"It's ok, I have to. You just do what they say, and I'll see you soon." He put a hand on Neal's shoulder, quickly removing it and walking to the door, not looking back.

oOo

They sat across from each other, in a room off the main ward Neal was being moved to. The table between them had a small recorder, a pad of paper and two glasses of water. Peter was beginning to sweat, breath short. He didn't want to do this, but Neal had done so much for him when this was happening, he had to protect him, the best he could.

"You know how this works, I'll press record and we'll start. We can take as many breaks as you need, I'll jot notes. Just tell me from your point of view what happened."


	18. Chapter 18

**Ta Da! Next one! Bit longer, but more choppy – you'll know what I mean! Let me know what you all think… review!**

Chapter 18

It had taken longer than it should have. He had to stop, gather himself a few times. Hughes didn't say anything. When Peter mentioned how the guy had swung the bat at the wall to taunt them, he stopped writing, knowing he would be able to remember what was coming next, recording or not. When they got to the guy violently but slowly stripping Neal of his clothes, he felt like telling Peter to stop, they didn't need the statement. But if they stopped, he'd have to watch it, so he let him continue.

Peter remembered everything, from beginning to end. Most of the injuries he talked about, Hughes had already been informed, either by the doctor, or visually seeing them. But when he was told about how helpless Peter felt while hearing Neal scream as the electricity coursed through him, or how he felt seeing the blood pool on the floor from the vicious cuts on Neal's arms and back, it made it more personal. More detailed. He was taken back to finding the young man strung up to the roof, legs stretched back behind him. Remembered how he felt then, now knowing how Peter had been feeling for days.

oOo

His room was at the end, though a separate door, armed guards at a distance for privacy but close enough to protect him from who ever may come. When they walked in, he was asleep. The nurse said – although he never admitted it – the transport had taken a lot out of him. So they sat, waiting.

He woke not long after, Peter was half sitting, half slumped, eyes closed, in the chair on his left. Hughes on his right, standing at the window, lost in thought. He turned his head, trying to smile, but the thoughts of everything Peter had told him racing through his head.

Neal knew by the look on his face, Peter had done it. Looking at him, he looked exhausted, eyes shut but not relaxed. Looking up at the ceiling, Neal sighed.

"Don't do that. He wanted to give the statement, he wasn't going to rest until he did. He wanted to protect you." Hughes sat on the wide window sill. Not quite looking at the man in the bed, the man looking back at him.

"I know that. I know, but he didn't need to."

"From what he told me, he did."

Both were silent, not knowing what to say.

"Suppose it's my turn. To give my statement."

"Like hell it is." Peter only heard this last sentence but didn't like it. Neal wasn't giving any statement.

"He doesn't have to. I'll clear it, make sure it stays that way. It's ok." Hughes knew Peter's reasons, and – truthfully – he didn't fancy going through it all with Neal, knowing what he did. With that, the three men stared at each other, Hughes again breaking the silence, "I better be going, the office is run off their feet searching... I'll be back later though." He was walking around the bed, towards the door, squeezing Neal's right foot as he passed.

Once the door closed, Neal let out a breath. Peter noticed.

"How you feeling?"

"Been better... been worse. Least I can't feel it." They both smiled. "This room is soooo much better than the last..."

"Well, you know you, only the best." Peter slumped back against the chair, "Look Neal, I have to ask you something. It's about what the doctor said, about me being your next of kin."

He had a feeling this would come up, but hearing him say it made it sound like it was a stupid idea to begin with. He just didn't have anyone else.

"When I was sentenced, they asked for a next of kin in case... in case anything happened in there." His voice was quiet, they rarely talked about his time in prison.

"Why me? I put you there."

Neal looked at him, really looked at him, in the eyes. "I didn't have anyone else."

Peter just nodded, he didn't need to know any more than that.

oOo

The doctor came in. He looked more rested than the last time Peter had seen him. He wanted to stay, hear what he said, but the look on Neal's face made him think he should go. Tapping his friend's hand he stood and exited the room. Neal's voice stopping him at the door;

"Peter, go home. The FBI are done, El shouldn't be going back there alone." With that he turned slightly, nodding and giving his friend a smile before leaving.

oOo

He called Diana from the car, telling her he was going home, and to pick up El, they were doing this together. He arrived at the house not long after, alone. The hotel was further than the hospital after all. He just stood, looking at the outside. The front path had been cleared, case papers gone. He breathed it in, wanting to enter, but knowing he had to wait for his wife.

She arrived almost fifteen minutes later. She was dressed in another FBI sweatshirt, looking tired and her eye was still discoloured, but healing. She looked at her husband, smile on her face, it disappeared as she turned her focus to the house, that night coming flooding back to her.

Opening the door, it was like nothing had happened. Everything was how it was, except a new carpet, same colour but new. El grasped his hand, walking forward so both were standing in the centre of the living room. It was there home, not as bad as they thought, but still haunting, Neal's scream echoing in the air. They both heard it. Diana was behind them, watching carefully.

They were at the dinning room table, Peter trying to feel comfortable in the chair. They had only been there an hour, Diana making coffee. The sudden shrill of Peter's phone made them jump. As soon as he read Hughes' name, he knew it was Neal. Something had happened.

oOo

The drive to the hospital had been a nightmare, him shouting at anyone that slowed him down. He had left El with Diana, she said she'd stay until he got back. Hughes hadn't said much, just that he had to get there as soon as possible. He was pacing Neal's corridor when Peter arrived.

"What the hell happened? Is he ok?"

"He's fine, now. He's sleeping, they had to give him a sedative."

"Why? He was fine when I left, what happened?" The look on his boss' face told him he wasn't going to like it. They sat on the chairs against the wall.

"Once the doctor was finished, I went in to sit with him. He asked if you were ok, asked about your statement, said he wanted to give one too. I told him it was ok, he didn't have to, but he insisted. Said if you could do it, so could he, so should he. We got to... when he used the electrical wand, his monitor was getting louder, he was getting paler, eyes were dazed. He said he wasn't feeling good, breathing hard, I got the basin form under the bed and... it was like he couldn't control his body. He was hyperventilating, panicking."

Peter stood, paced the short width of the corridor. He was mad... no, he was pissed. Neal shouldn't have had to go through it. He was gone two hours tops and Neal was sedated. He shouldn't have left, should have waited, been with him. But Neal told him to go, he was planning it, didn't want him here to see.

"I'm going to sit with him, Diana is at my house with El."

"I'm coming in with you, I need to see he is ok." Peter didn't argue.

oOo

The room was quiet, only the monitor's beep. Neal was out, head slightly to the left. He looked worse than when Peter was there last. His arm was at a different angle, probably what the doctor was checking before he left.

They sat, both on Neal's left, next to each other, for almost an hour. They didn't say anything, just watched. Gradually the monitor sped up, subtle at first, growing more noticeable. Both men sat straight, watching their friend slowly wake. His right eye was less swollen and could open half way. He was groggy, unsure where he was, and who was with him.

"Hey, hey buddy, it's us. You're ok, just relax." Peter's hand went to Neal's head, moving his thumb back and forward, moving close so Neal would only see him. Suddenly, it came back to him, Peter saw it. Like a flash in his eyes. He sighed, eyes closing, swallowing hard.

"I'm sorry."

"No, no, no, you have no reason to be. It shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you. It's ok." His hand was on his friend's, rubbing the back. Neal smiled, small and sad, before looking past him to Hughes.

"I tried, sorry sir. I'll do better tomorrow, I promise."

"No son, you won't. You're not going through it again. It's ok, we have what Peter gave us, we'll make it work. Now gentlemen, I have to go back to the office, but I'll be back tomorrow," he stood to leave, leaning forward – over Peter – putting a hand on Neal's left shoulder, "take it easy, I'm glad you're ok." With that he turned and left, leaving Neal and Peter – a man who was still pissed.

"What the hell is wrong with you? I told you not to give the statement, I'm trying to help you, to protect you, and you won't let me." He was ranting, stopping only at the sound of his friend's voice, small and broken; "I'm sorry, I tried..."

oOo

It had been half an hour of silence. Both men lost in their own thought's. Then Neal spoke. Not to Peter, just spoke out loud.

"I'm not mad. If anything, when it was happening... I felt glad." Peter looked at him, as he was looking towards the window. He didn't know how to reply. He wanted to ask why. It was as if Neal read his mind.

"When ever it was hard to cope, to continue to take it... the thing that I kept thinking... it was supposed to be El. She was supposed to be there, not me. And that scared me. I was glad... I was glad I was there, because it meant she wasn't." He looked at Peter, his hand covering Neal's left. He smiled, faint and subtle. But he understood and he was grateful.

"I'm glad she wasn't there either. But that does not mean, in any way, that I'm glad you were." He needed Neal to know that, and looking into his eyes, he did.


	19. Chapter 19

**Only one more after this! Let me know what you think… review! Just noticed this one is long!**

Chapter 19

It had been three days, his right arm was no longer held in mid air, but it was still useless. He didn't want to tell Peter, he still couldn't feel it, at all. But everything else was feeling better, his ankle still numb – for the best – and leg unmoving he wasn't able to get up and around, but the doctor did say he would be able to go home in the next few days.

Peter had been spending a lot of time with Neal, while El, Diana and Jones were at the house. He hadn't been their much, but Neal was getting out soon and he had to be looked after, he couldn't go home alone. He and El had agreed he would stay with them, whither Neal would think it a good idea was a different story. The doctor had told him there still was no nerve communication in the right arm, something Neal had neglected to mention, but he was letting it lie, waiting for him to say.

Walking into his room, Neal was sitting up, the swelling down in his right eye enabling both to be open. He seemed ok, but looked bored.

"Hey, how are you today?"

"Feeling better. They say I could be out in a few days."

"Yeah, I heard," he sat next to the bed, his usual spot, "listen, this is probably as good a time as any, the doctor said you shouldn't be going home to be yourself, he insists the only way it could be soon is if you stay with someone. Of course we volunteered, but we completely understand if you don't want to stay in the house, considering..."

He let that hang in the air, neither needing a reminder of that night any more than they already have.

"Thank you, of course I'll come stay. Just tell the doc and get me out of here."

Peter laughed, nodding, standing to walk out.

oOo

It had been over a week since he was admitted, and he was going home. Walking on the brace was hard and he couldn't do it for long, but he could do it if it meant leaving the hospital. And that's exactly what it meant. He was leaving today, Peter and El signing forms. The dressings were off his back and arms, looking down he had a constant reminder of that cellar. His left arm was all he could see, right one strapped to his body, out of sight. He had no shirt on, only going to wear a jacket out to the car, anything too tight hurting his back. Although it was healing, it would remain their forever, he would never be free.

He was looking out the window, sitting on his bed, back to the door. She had finished with the papers and was going to help him finish getting ready. Walking through the door – oblivious – she gasped at the state of his back. Peter had mentioned it, but never gone into details. But here it was, right in front of her; PROPERTY OF THE FBI. She had to swallow hard.

He didn't know she was there, until he heard her. Head snapping around, he saw the shocked look. Seeing him looking at her, she forced a smile on her face, walking towards him, standing just off to his side. She didn't know what to say.

"That bad, huh?" He had humour in his voice, coupled with a nervous edge. She put his jacket on the bed, glancing at the angry red 'CONMAN' of his left forearm, trying to quickly look away before he noticed. Not quick enough. He turned his arm over, hiding it from the world.

Peter saw them, the words that sent shivers through out his own body. El had seen it, he was sure. Hard to miss really. Walking in, they weren't talking, both looking to him. Both looking uneasy. He went to his wife, putting his arm around her shoulders, both looking at Neal. He was about to break the awkward silence when the doctor walked in, he smiled, walking up to the right side of his patient, past the other guests.

"So, you ready to get out of here then?"

"You bet."

"Good, now I'm going to do a check up now on your arm, so you don't have to come back for a few days. We can do this alone if you like?" He glanced at the Burke's.

"We'll be outside if you need us Neal, just call."

"No. I mean... you can stay, if you want." He didn't look at them as he said it, but he wouldn't have asked if he didn't want them there. El said she had to make work calls and would be back .

"Of course, I'll sit back there." He walked around to the other side of the bed, controlling his emotions when he had to look at Neal's back. He must have noticed, turning slightly, grimacing as he did. Peter just smiled, getting one in return.

"Now Neal, how's it feeling? Any kind of sensation?" The doctor was removing the strap holding the right arm to his body, his shoulder hurt, but his arm was numb.

"Just pain in the shoulder, nothing past it," he gave a half glance towards Peter.

"Ok, well lets see what we can do."

He moved Neal's arm to the side, resting it on the portable table beside the bed. Neal couldn't feeling it, but his shoulder was on fire. A small groan escaped his lips before he could stop it, and Peter was on his left side in a second, concern on his face. Neal, just glanced at him, enough to say that he was ok, but to tell him to stay there.

"Right, Mr Caffrey, you're going to try to move your fingers. Now it was only been a week – give or take – so we are not expecting anything too dramatic. But having some sense of movement before you start physiotherapy can go a long way."

Peter watched Neal's face as the doctor said this. He could tell his hopes weren't high. He knew this wasn't going to work. But still he tried, and Peter smiled.

At first, nothing happened. He didn't feel anything and couldn't move anything. But, just as he was ready to give up, his pinkie finger twitched. It was small, and at any other time, insignificant, but right then it was the best thing in the world. He let out a light sigh, Peter too. The doctor was smiling.

"That's good. We know progress will be slow, but this is great. Now, I'll strap you back up and you can finally get out of here."

oOo

The house looked just like it always did. But as Neal walked up the front path, he saw that night, play out in slow motion. He was using his crutch to help with walking on the brace, but his ankle hurt with every step. Not that he was going to tell them. He was fine. El was at the door first, opening it for them, Peter behind him, watching his every move. As he stepped in, it was as if it hit him, throwing him off balance, staggering to the right, unable to use his arm. Peter grabbed him, stopping the fall, but he flinched, big.

He was embarrassed. Sitting on the sofa, trying to breath deep, El bringing him water, Peter's hand resting on his left shoulder.

"I'm sorry." He kept saying it, quietly as if only to himself.

"No, you don't have to be sorry. You can feel how ever you want. If you can't stay here, it's fine, we'll think of something else." His head shot up, already shaking.

"No. Here's fine, I'm fine. Don't worry, it's good."

oOo

That night, the house was quiet. She was asleep, feeling ok about doing so for the first time since it happened. But then she was awake. Feeling the bed move, shift. Her heart was racing and eyes wide. Turing over, she saw her husband on his back, eyes screwed shut. He was murmuring, soft and strained.

"No. Leave him alone. Neal." Over and over. She was scared, didn't know what to do, placing her hand on his shoulder, she shook him trying to wake him up. It took effort before he gradually, slowly began to realise where he was. His breathing haltered as his eyes focused on his wife, suddenly in bed and not in the cellar.

He breathed in deep, hand running over his face while he moved back to sit up right. She just sat, watching, waiting.

"I'm sorry El, I..."

"You are never to say that to me about this, ever. We are going to be fine, the three of us and it will get easier. I just feel..." She was going to continue when they heard it. It was small and almost inaudible, but it was there. A groan of sorts, sounding like a door creak but human. Both looked at each other, eyes beginning to widen as they thought about it. Before they could move a pained scream filled the silence.

Peter was out the bed first, taking long strides to the landing, service weapon in hand, fearing the worse. El hung back, grabbing the telephone before slowly following her husband.

He wasn't looking back. His sole focus on protecting his friend. The guest room was dark, only the landing light behind him allowing him to see. The glow rested on Neal's face. As he entered the room, he saw no threats, lowering his gun by his side. He was lying on his left. His face was glistening with sweat, forehead furrowed down, eyes shut tight. He was breathing hard, chest rising quickly. Peter walked around the back of him, seeing the smeared blood on the sheet below, the steady trickle coming from some of his back wounds.

His body was shaking, Peter could see it. Then his body constricted, spasming, not breathing. A scream – louder than before – tore from his throat. Peter knew what he was reliving. He knew exactly which bit. He could almost see the electricity course through him lying safe on the bed. He had to wake him up, couldn't listen to him in pain again.

El was at the door, staring on in shock. Her friend caught in the nightmare of his past and her husband right there with him. She saw Peter reach out. His hand had barely touched his friend's shoulder when Neal's eyes shot open and he jumped back. He was terrified, breathing sharp and hard. He didn't know where he was, eyes darting around.

"It's ok. It's ok, Neal. Just breath, you're fine. You're ok." He didn't want to reach out again, scare him again. He dropped one knee on the bed, subtly putting his gun under on the floor, staying a reasonable distance away from the shaking man.

The room was coming into focus, Peter sitting, waiting on him. El standing at the door, unsure what to do. He was calming down, shakes lessening on his body, the pain he felt mere seconds ago beginning to fade. He put his left hand to his face, over his eyes, right arm just laying there, unmoving on the bed, those three words pointing upwards. The room was silent, he heard his breath coming out shaky and all at once. He was embarrassed, but the fear of what he just relived over shadowed it. He felt Peter's hand on his right leg. He didn't move. Letting it be.


	20. Chapter 20

**This is the last one folks! Hope you all enjoyed it! - let me know! I ended up slightly changing the ending after it being finished for months lol. Thank you everyone for your comments and support! I have three other stories half finished so think im just gonna pick one and finish while I'm uploading! X x**

Chapter 20

It had been six months since it happened. He was back home, trying to get back to normality. He was healing, right arm in a sling for most of the day, but sensation had returned and physiotherapy was helping him regain movement. Basic, daily tasks were possible now. Peter visited almost every day, he had went back to work a couple of months before. They met up every couple of weeks at the FBI's therapist's office, going separately in between.

Now, he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, the closed beginnings of scarring on his arms, still red. His back was the same, only thing was he couldn't see it. Today was the day he was going in to the FBI building. The white collar team had been working his case 24/7 since it happened. And they had him. Had him in custody. Had him in the building.

His arm was shaking, thinking this. It was really happening. He and Peter were going in, to see what they had, if it would be in court, if they'd have to testify. He felt like he was going to throw up.

"Neal!"

Peter's voice through the apartment made him jump, right arm support slipping off the sink, making him topple to the side. He was grabbed and held upright, Peter keeping him off the floor. Helping him walk out the bathroom and on to a dining room chair.

oOo

Going up the elevator, he and Peter were silent. He could feel the other staring at him, like he was going to break. He glanced at him, showing his annoyance. As the doors pinged, he breathed in deep, feeling his heart jump, letting the breath out.

This was the first time he was at the office since it happened, the hustle and bustle the first thing he noticed stepping out, Peter right at his side. As they walked through the double glass doors, everyone became silent, staring at them. Well him. He didn't want to go any further, but then someone started to clap, loud. Then everyone joined in. He didn't know what to do, until he felt Peter's hand on the small of his back, urging him forward. As they walked through everyone around them, he kept his eyes trained on the man standing upstairs at the glass conference room.

Hughes was waiting, knowing how hard this would be. As they neared to top of the stairs he smiled, walking to greet them.

oOo

The office was warm. And it wasn't just him. The a/c had broken and everyone was walking around in t-shirts and vests. The conference room was just as bad, maybe worse from all the glass. He had his shirt and jacket on, Peter taking his off as soon as they entered. He was going to have to follow, taking it off as he began to sit. He could vaguely see the red marks on his skin under the fabric, Peter could see his back without the undershirt. He knew it was a bad idea, bringing Neal here, to give his statement, but he had insisted, wanted to do it.

He took a slip of water, looking at Peter, then Hughes, finally turning his attention to the video camera across from him, once again flashing back to the cellar. He pushed it aside, steadying him self. He brought his hands under his chin to support it, his sleeve cuffs being drawn down, exposing the red scarring to the world. Hughes began to speak, and he knew he could do this, a slight smile appearing on his face.

"Right, can you state your name for the record."

"Which one?"


End file.
